


Rich Girl

by Tell_Me_Tales



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Abusive Father, Angry Drunk, Angst, Complete, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One-Shot, past original character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-08
Updated: 2009-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tell_Me_Tales/pseuds/Tell_Me_Tales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody has their secrets. No family is perfect. These are two simple truths that Samantha Manson knows all-too-well. The third truth she knows, is that some are worse than others.</p><p>Or...</p><p>Mr. Manson is scum, Mrs. Manson lives in a perfect world, and Sam is good at hiding what no one wants to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rich Girl

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Danny Phantom is property of Butch Hartman and Nickelodeon.

_**Rich Girl** _

  
  


"Stupid, insolent, little girl!" the man yelled before slapping her across the cheek. Sam bit her lip to keep from screaming. She looked up at her father with wide, fearful eyes. This was the worse he had been in awhile.

He took another long draw from the alcoholic beverage he still grasped in his right hand. "It's all your fault," he yelled, "She's dead because of you!" He grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet. She couldn't stop the cry that escaped her.

The man's eyes narrowed before he punched her in the stomach. "I've told you before that you aren't to speak in my presence!" he roared and continued his drunken tirade, "You're not worthy of existing!" He then allowed her to fall to the floor as silent tears ran down her face.

The girl listened as her father stumbled his way down the hall, taking a swig from his bottle as he went. She waited for a few minutes before allowing herself to crawl over to her bed. There she laid on her side, all curled up on top of the soft mattress and blankets. The girl gave a gasp as the real crying began. The sobs shook her body violently, making her painfully aware of every new bruise.

Hours later her sobbing finally subsided to small hiccups. "Four more years," she whispered to herself, "Just four more years, and then-- and then you'll be free...

"If you can survive four more years, then you can escape from this," the girl continued quietly, "He'll have no more hold on you. You'll be eighteen, an adult."

She had thought about just running away before, but it wouldn't work. There was simply too much tying her down for her to leave before her eighteenth birthday.

Her father's words echoed in her head. _'She's dead because of you!'_ he had screamed. The girl knew exactly who he had been referring to.

"Mom..." she breathed with another small hiccup. He hadn't mentioned Mom in so long. She curled herself up tighter as she thought about it.

It had been almost nine years ago now. She had only been seven at the time, young and stupid and childish. They had been happy for the most part back then, but on that day, everything had unraveled...

She had been angry; because of what, she couldn't remember. She had run out the door and into the street even though she knew that she wasn't supposed to cross the street by herself. Her mom had gone after her.

After that it became blurry. A loud horn, tires skidding on the cold, wet pavement, and her mom pushing her onto the sidewalk opposite their house: these were the only things she could recall before it became unbearably clear.

She could remember exactly how everything had looked for those few earth-shattering moments. Her mom's bleeding body graced the ground in front of an old tan car. The front doors of the car had been thrown open and then slammed back into place as the owners of the vehicle ran to see if there was any way they could possibly help the woman that they had hit. Her father stood rigidly in the doorway of their small house, staring in complete shock at the scene.

Her mom had died three agonizing hours later in the operation room of the nearest hospital.

Soon after the accident, her father had started drinking. In his drunken rampages he had begun to hit her. _'It's your fault that she was out there!'_ he would yell, _'If you hadn't run out there, she would still be alive!'_ Back then, she had believed him. A small part of her still did, even now.

He had gotten married to her 'new' mother about three years later. By then he was nothing but a self-serving monster; though no-one would have guessed with facade he had put up. Even she hadn't seen it. But then, at the time, she had only been eight and had thought that she was the monster. Not her father.

He still had her mother fooled to this day...

At any rate, she now knew for a fact that her father had only married her mother for the money.

The marriage had been good for her though. She now had someone that cared for her again, actually cared for her. Her mother cared about her almost as much as her mom had. Her mother opened her eyes to the fact that it wasn't really her fault that her mom was dead. She hadn't killed her mom. She wasn't to blame. It had been an accident. Her mother loved her and had taught her that she wasn't a loathsome, little girl like her father said she was.

She had thought about going to her mother with the truth once, but had stopped herself when she realized that things might get worse instead of better. Her father could start beating her mother too. They could get a divorce, and she might have to go with her father because nobody would believe that he beat her. She was his daughter by blood after all; and that was something that her mother simply couldn't claim, no matter how much she wished it were true so that she could escape her father.

No, she had decided to wait until she was eighteen, and then she would bring his dark deeds out into the light. When the courts could no longer keep her from her mother or tie her to her father. Then he would get what he deserved.

She pushed herself up off her side and into a sitting position. She then crawled to the head of her bed. She pushed the pillows aside and reached down in between the mattress and headboard. The fit was tight and it took her a few seconds to find what she had been looking for, but when she did she immediately pulled it up.

In her hand she held the only surviving picture of her mom. A few fresh tears fell onto the glass covering the aging photo. She wiped them away carefully.

The woman stared back at her calmly from behind the glass. She had soft, humor-filled eyes that were the same violet as her daughter. Her hair fell down her back in long silky strands of ebony black. She had full lips that parted to show a laughing smile. She almost looked as if she knew something that you wanted to know, but she was having too much fun keeping it a secret to tell you what it was.

The girl looked at the picture for a moment more before replacing it and moving the pillows back into position. It wouldn't be good if her father found out about it. He would probably burn it like he had the others, and the girl knew that he wouldn't see just that as punishment enough for her 'crimes.'

Walking into the bathroom that was across the hall from her room she quickly washed her face to remove the tear tracks. She then started on the makeup to cover the already appearing bruises. Luckily, she didn't bruise easily and there weren't many that actually needed to be covered up. The rest of the routine went fairly quickly. After all, she had had years to perfect it and she had to finish before her mother returned home or there would be trouble.

~.~.~.~

Half an hour later found the girl downstairs on the couch reading a gothic novel as if nothing unusual had happened that morning; but then, for her, nothing unusual had happened. The girl glanced up from her book when she heard the door open.

"Hello, Sweetie," her mother said as she came through the front door with one of their butlers carrying multiple bags in behind her, "I know cooking isn't really your thing and that I can't cook much without burning it, but I bought some pre-made cookie batter at the store. Do you think we might try our hands at some cookies later tonight?"

The girl raised an eyebrow. This wasn't her mother's unusual tactic in trying to spend more time with her. "I'm sorry, Mother, but I don't think..." she couldn't get the rest of the words out when she saw her mother's pleading face, "...that we should wait at all! I'm always ready for some cookies."

Her mother brightened instantly.

"Of course!" her mother agreed, absolutely delighted, "I suppose that we could have desert before dinner this once."

The girl nodded, a smile tugging at her lips as she placed her book down and followed the older woman to the kitchen. Maybe having a sweet ending would make her day seem a little better anyway...


End file.
